by Tia Louise
“Show that racist bitch who’s the real bad bitch.”
Shaking my head, I groan. “I’ve never been that bitch. I’ll just keep my head down and paint.”
“That’s my girl. Paint a bridge.”
“Over the rainbow.”
With a charcoal pencil, I make a long black line down the oversized sheet of paper. Stepping back, I close my eyes, considering how I can make Winona Clarke unforgettable.
This day was unforgettable, starting with Deacon in my bed and ending with me here, in Beto’s garden cottage planning out a portrait of Aunt Winnie.
Deacon and I have texted a few times. He’s in Harristown, two and a half hours away. He’s well, safe drive… I’m well, I miss him like crazy… He’ll be home soon…
I didn’t say a word about my new job with his aunt. I don’t want him feeling like he needs to do anything. If I’m going to be an artist, I have to be able to work with difficult people. I can’t have the men in my life swooping in and smoothing the way for me.
Anyway, at this point, there’s nothing to smooth. I’m going in tomorrow for a trial period, and we’ll take it from there.
Natural light streams through the open windows of the cottage, and the scent of gardenia floats in on the breeze. I close my eyes and inhale my mother’s spirit, focusing on the moment, letting the creativity flow through me.
Winnie’s eyes are the same color as Deacon’s, which I can see in my sleep, but the emotion flowing from them is very different. Deacon is open and generous. Winnie is not. She’s proud… and suspicious. I have an idea of what I’d like to do with her, but it’s a little unorthodox. Still, she might go for it.
“I’ve never watched you work.” My brother’s voice breaks my concentration.
He stands in the doorway, holding the frame above his head. “Is that how you do it? Sketches first?”
“Depends on what I’m doing.” I step back, glad I haven’t gone any farther.
“What are you doing?” He lowers his arms and enters the small house.
“Brainstorming.” I pick up a damp towel and wipe my fingers.
He nods, going to my portfolio lying open on the table. “I wasn’t sure what I’d do with this place when the realtor showed it to me. I thought it might be a playhouse for Sofia.”
“It’s a great place for art.” I motion to the windows. “Natural light. The breeze keeps the air fresh.”
He thumbs through the plastic sleeves, studying my landscapes. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Since I lived in Mexico. Mamá taught me the basics. I took classes at school.”
“Some of these are really good. We could frame them, hang them in the house.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I guess he’s trying to be friendly. Too bad he shot all that to hell when he tried to hurt the man I love.
“What’s this?” He takes out my sketch of our mother from its plastic sleeve.
Holding it up, he looks at it in a way that makes my chest tighten. The muscle in his jaw moves, and his eyes tense.
“It’s our mother.” Obviously, he knows who it is.
Clearing his throat, he lowers the piece to the stack. “You have a lot of talent.”
His voice is different, and I remember our conversation over breakfast Saturday. I remember what he said about her leaving, why he never came to visit us in Mexico.
I’ve always kept Mamá on this dreamy pedestal. Our life in Mexico was focused on the present, what we were doing every day. She made her art and she would talk to me like our life there was an adventure. I was a little girl. I never thought about what she left behind.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Beto.” My voice is quiet, my heart warm, and he pauses in the doorway, looking back.
“Then don’t.”
11
Deacon
“It’s crazy to think how busy this place will be in just a few weeks.” Noel LaGrange grabs a big box from the stack outside her door.
We’re meeting at the store she converted from a feed shed on her family’s 100-acre peach orchard in Harristown.
I grab one as well, following her inside. “You got that?”
“Oh sure.” She shakes her head, laughing. “I’ll be doing a lot more than carrying boxes once harvest starts next week.”
She flicks on a window unit, and I place the box beside her cash register. “You guys work hard.”
Thinking back to the first year I was here, I couldn’t believe how much her family accomplished in one month. Peaches are too fragile to be picked and sorted by machines. They’re able to use some tools, but most of it is hand-picking, hand-sorting—backbreaking work in the hottest part of the year.
“Every May I wonder how we’re going get everything done.” She laughs, whipping her dark hair into a ponytail on top of her head. “Then we do.”
“Jesus loves the little chillll-dren…” Noel’s little daughter Dove marches up, carrying a box and singing at the top of her lungs. “All the children of the world!”
“Pipe down, Dolly.” Noel takes the box from her and puts it on the counter.
“Miss Tina said we’re going to learn it in sign language!” She joins her little hands like a bird flying.
Dove’s a character with bright blue eyes and curly blonde hair. I think of Sofia and how the little girls might be friends if Angel and I lived here and she visited us.
“Would you bring the rest of the boxes in from the porch?”
“Okay!” She takes off for the door, and Noel takes jars of face cream and body lotion from the smaller one.
“I’ve got a lot of stock ready ahead of time this year.” She puts the jars on the counter before returning to the register. “I worked all through the spring.”
“How’s it going?”
“Good.” She nods. “I’m dead.”
“You could hire someone to cover shifts during harvest.”
“I guess, but I don’t like sitting around.”
“I help with the sorting now!” Dove marches up, carrying an enormous cardboard box, almost bigger than she is. “Uncle Sawyer says I’m as good as the teenagers!”
“Whoa, hang on there.” I take the giant box from her, but it’s surprisingly light. Opening the flap, I see what looks like a bunch of papers. “What is this?”
“Oh, that.” Noel walks over, and we both move the contents around. “It was here when Miss Jessica gave me the place. I wanted her to go through it and make sure it’s nothing important.”
Miss Jessica is the octogenarian nursing home resident who gave the feed shed to Noel to renovate. Noel cleaned it, painted and wired it, and now it rivals anything you’d see on Main Street, with flowers and a front porch.
I pull out an old ledger and what appear to be receipts. The dates on some are older than I am. “I’m not sure any of this is worth keeping.”
“Yeah, she told me to throw it all away, but look here.” Noel digs deeper, pulling out a few envelopes and handing them to me. “There are letters…”
Turning the envelopes in my hand, I open the flap and stop. “I guess this might be personal?”
She exhales, shaking her head. “You’re right. I should just sort through it all and make a bundle of things I think she really wants to keep.”
“I didn’t say that—” Dove pats on my leg, and I lift her onto a nearby chair. “It would be nice if you had time, but you’re pretty busy.”
“Look at this one, Mamma!” Dove holds up a letter with an ornate stamp attached. “Can I have it?”
Noel takes the letter from her daughter and studies it. “I don’t know, baby. This one might be worth something. Is that French?”
She hands it to me, and I examine the stamp. “I can’t tell. Maybe Vietnamese?”
“Well, that does it.” She shakes her head. “I’ll go through it tonight and make a stack to take to Miss Jessica.”
“You know, I’m just sitting in a hotel room. I could help you.”
> “Oh, no. It’s my old box of junk.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out an iPad pro. “Let’s stop wasting your time.”
She taps over to Quickbooks, and we spend the next half-hour reviewing her business plan, which is on track for thirty percent growth this year.
Noel’s a smart businesswoman, so it’s a quick, quarterly check-up. She slides the iPad back in its sleeve as Dove holds up another old letter. “Look at this one, Mamma!”
“Ooo, that’s a fun one.” Noel glances at the envelope, but I look a little closer.
A bright yellow and orange “Greetings from Texas” stamp is in the corner, and the handwriting seems vaguely familiar. A faded return address is in the top left corner, and I remember my dad saying his mother loved to come here in the summer.
“Can I see that one?”
Dove hands it to me. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“Yes, it is…” My voice trails off as I read the addresses. It was sent to someone named Winona, and it’s a Plano return address. “Do you think Miss Jessica might have known my grandmother?”
“Miss Jessica knew everybody.” Noel pops up and looks closer at the letter I’m holding. “Is that from your grandmother?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to ask her.”
“Okay, fine. We can sort through this now.” She’s teasing, but I’m motivated.
We only find two more letters in the box, neither from Plano. The rest are receipts and decades-old bookkeeping.
“In my professional opinion, you’re safe to toss the rest.” I slip all four letters into my messenger bag. “I’ll take these to the nursing home tomorrow.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay for supper?” Noel locks the door to her shop, and we stroll down the hill.
“I would, but I’ve… got to take care of some business tonight.” I want to check in with Angel and pack my things so I can head home early.
“I’ve got to start paying you for all this somehow.”
“Send me some peaches.”
“I’ll do it.” She grins, holding my arm. “One peach care package headed your way!”
Dove takes off running down the hill towards the large, white farmhouse. It’s a beautiful place with a sloped, tin roof, white wrap-around porches, and crepe myrtle trees blooming at the corners. The screen door slams as the little girl enters the kitchen, and it’s a comforting, homey sound. It makes me think of Angel.
We pause at my car, and I look around the place, thinking about a peaceful life with no angry brothers threatening to shoot me. “Call me if you need anything or if anything changes.”
“Nothing changes around here.” She steps forward into a hug. “You know that.”
I like that.
Back at my hotel, I type a quick text to the number of the phone I got for Angel. A horse walks into a bar…
Tossing my device on the bed, I loosen my tie and slide out of my blazer. It was a steamy day, but the window unit in Noel’s shop kept us from getting sweaty. I’m pretty sure I can get one more day out of my suit before I head home.
My phone buzzes, and I step out of my slacks before lying on the bed to read her reply. Bartender says why the long face?
These corny old jokes were the only game I had as a teenager. Now it’s our thing. I text a quick reply, Because the most beautiful girl in the world isn’t riding him right now.
My thoughts drift to her straddling my lap last night, and my cock starts to harden in my shorts. I slide my hand over it.
A few moments pass, and her reply pops up. I dreamed I rode a unicorn last night. It had the most satisfying horn…
Shit. A groan rumbles in my throat, and my fingers curl over my cock. I wish that piece of crap phone had Facetime. I want to see you naked.
At a very crowded dinner with my family.
Go to the bathroom.
Insatiable. How was your day?
Good. Noel’s going to be the next Burt’s Bees. Really wish you were here.
I think about introducing Angel to the Harristown group. She and Noel would be great friends, and I know she’d have a lot in common with Mindy. They’re both artists, although Mindy is more interested in commercial arts.
We could get a house out by the lake. I’d be sure it had a room with lots of windows where she could paint. I could take care of her…
I’m ready to do everything with you. Her text stirs a longing so deep in my soul.
I want to do everything with her. See you tomorrow, beautiful.
She signs off with a big red heart, and I walk to the shower, flicking on the hot water.
My mind is consumed with thoughts of Angel and me together as I step into the steaming glass enclosure. I love her art. I love her mind. I love the way she teases me, the way she laughs at my corny jokes, the way she cares for the people she loves.
Closing my eyes, I remember her touch, her fingers wrapping around me. I remember her hot little mouth sucking on my lips, my neck, my cock.
Her amber eyes are so round when she looks up at me from her knees. She flickers her tongue along my shaft, pulling me deep into her throat, tracing her fingernails up the insides of my thighs.
It only takes a few tugs to relieve the ache of missing my girl. My ass tightens, and I come long and hard, groaning her name as the water rushes over my back and shoulders. Bracing my hand against the wall, I breathe slowly, coming down, missing the warmth of her body next to mine.
I pull on the hotel robe and order room service. I’ll have a cocktail then dinner. In the morning I’ll stop by the nursing home on my way out of town, and I’ll be in Texas by the end of the day, ready to find some answers and be with my girl.
“Deacon, my goodness!” Miss Jessica pats my cheek when I lean down to give her a hug.
She’s sitting on a green couch in the activity room of the Pine Hills nursing home where she lives. It’s a small place, matching the small town, and the residents range from needing light assistance to hospice care.
“I haven’t seen you in ages. Where have you been?”
“How does he look?” Ms. Irene, her blind best friend who also lives in the home is beside her on the couch.
Ms. Irene’s straight white hair is styled in a long braid down her back, and her blue eyes gaze in the vicinity of my face. Both old ladies are dressed in flowered smocks, soft pants, and slippers. They appear harmless, but I’ve learned not to underestimate them.
Miss Jessica leans to her. “He looks like a young Gary Cooper. Tan suit with a white shirt and navy striped tie that makes his blue eyes glow.”
She nods up at me, and they ladies shake their heads.
“Stop it, you’ll make him blush.” Mindy Ray, Noel’s best friend and my former college buddy walks up, pulling me into a hug.
Mindy’s in jeans and a red sweater, and her long brown hair is in a low ponytail over one shoulder. She started her own marketing business and only works part-time here now, but she still pretty much runs the place.
Stepping back, she inspects me with her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised. “Gary Cooper… hmm… I can see it. You’re a little too cocky for Mr. Cooper.”
“I’m not cocky.”
She makes a pfft sound. “You most certainly are.”
“I miss all the good stuff now,” Ms. Irene sighs.
“Did you come to see Mindy?” Miss Jessica waggles her eyebrows at the two of us, and I take a seat beside her.
“I came to see you.”
“Oh, my land, I’ve waited for this.” She puts a hand on her chest. “Cowboy, take me away!”
Shaking my head, I take the letters out of my bag. “Noel found these in an old box at the feed shed. I asked her if I could bring them to you… I think one of them might be from my grandmother.”
Her thin brow wrinkles. “Who is your grandmother?”
“Well, she was Kimberly Allen.”
The old lady’s eyebrows shoot up, and she leans back. “Oh.”
Ms. Irene scoots closer. “
Kim was your grandmother?”
I’m not sure what to make of this response. “Did you know her? This letter is addressed to Winona… something.” I hold out the missive. “The rest is worn away.”
Miss Jessica takes the envelopes, sliding her fingers over them as if they’re precious relics. “I didn’t know Kim very well. She was friends with my sister Winnie. She died… oh, about twenty years ago.”
“Winnie?” I had been leaning forward, resting my forearms on my knees, but that name draws me up straight. Winona… Winnie… Was my aunt named for this lady?
“It was just a nickname. Winona Fieldstone was her married name.”
I slowly lean forward once more, nodding at the letter. “We found that, and I thought you might want it.”
She turns it over in her hands. “I don’t know why I’d want an old letter. If it’s important to you, you can have it.” She gives it to me, and I pause, thinking.
“Miss Jessica, did something happen to my grandmother? Something I might not know about?”
Her weathered hand flutters to the neck of her smock. “I have no idea what you know. Anyway, I didn’t know her very well. Like I said.”
Mindy sits on the arm of my chair. “Sounds like you’re sitting on a good story. Spill it, Miss J.”
“Melinda Ray! I am not sitting on anything. Mind your business.”
Reaching out, I put my hand over hers gently. “It’s okay. After my father died, it seems like a lot of my family’s history was lost.”
“Swept under the rug is more like it.” Ms. Irene nods her head.
That gets my attention. It’s the exact thing I’m thinking. “Do you know about her?”
Her clouded eyes drift to the ceiling. “Your grandmother was a beautiful woman. Probably the prettiest girl in these parts until Penelope Harris.”
“That was Noel’s mom.” Mindy whispers into my shoulder. “She won every beauty pageant in the tri-county area.”
“What happened to her?”
“She was in love with two men, from what I remember. Isn’t that right, Jessica?” Ms. Irene looks in the direction of her friend, who’s still clutching her collar and looking worried. “Weren’t they best friends?”